


Two Souls, One Body

by DownEarth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, But not sexual, Character Bashing, Child Abuse, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parseltongue, Past Abuse, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry Potter, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DownEarth/pseuds/DownEarth
Summary: Voldemort still made his horcruxes. The Potters still died on Halloween. Harry still went to the Dursley's house, still spent the first ten years of his life beaten for accidental magic and for talking back and for merely existing. But that's where it ended - the similarities, and his life.





	1. Metempsychosis

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've had this decently fleshed out plot stuck in my head for a bit more than half a year, but I could never sit down and write it out in a way that I was happy with.  
> This is going to be a slow-going work in progress for the time being, sorry. Any comments would be greatly appreciated! I want to know any thoughts or critiques you have!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metempsychosis - noun; the transmigration at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same species

Heavy footfalls shake the ground beneath where Boy is curled, fetal position. Clamorous voices yell in his ear;  _ “Burnt the dinner again, Boy, you’ll pay for those steaks.” _ The crack of a belt against air replaces the voices seconds before burning pain blooms. Blood drips slowly down his back. 

Seconds - minutes - hours pass like the blink of an eye, dragging through molasses. Worthless boy; freak; waste of space; the voices taunt occasionally, fading in and out like his consciousness. He is delirious with hunger, thirst, and blinding pain. It ebbs and flows like the tide. For some time he is left alone in the corner, nursing the broken skin, in a routine he has lived with for the past ten years. Around him, a pool of blood is forming, bright red against stark white tiles. Tiles he has spent hours and hours and  _ hours  _ scrubbing. This stain will take just as many to clean out. Still, the chance to sit and simply endure the throbbing, aching pain was a rare one. He is thankful for the respite, however brief it will prove itself to be. 

He is dragged back to reality by a suckerpunch in the form of his cousin’s toes in his kidney. Said cousin is standing over him, the glee Boy once saw in his cousin’s eyes as he pinned mice up by their tails, back with a vengeance. The pain he had been distancing himself from comes slamming back full force, stealing his breath, and his common sense. Knowing his cousin will do worse than prick him with thumbtacks and leave him hanging along the garden fence for cats and hawks, Boy reacts instinctively, like a feral dog backed into a corner. Boy grabs his cousins leg, nails piercing the skin, draws blood and a fleeting smile to Boy’s face. 

To bring pain to one who caused him so much seems therapeutic, in a twisted sense. The responding screech and crocodile tears that were drawn from his cousin remind Boy just how foolish his actions were. He knows he will regret his instinctive reaction shortly.

The ground shakes again as Uncle enters the room. He sees the spots of blood under Boy’s nails and turns purple as he sees red. Screaming, loud and guttural, ensues. Uncle grabs the closest thing: a cast-iron skillet, filled with leftover dinner, still waiting in the pan to be scrapped into the trash. Uncle raises his arm, eyes bulging and veins dark spiderwebs popping under his skin, and swings down in a manner that reminds Boy, passingly, of the way flies are swatted - 

.

.

.

_ He opened his eyes to unfiltered sunlight directly overhead and deafening silence. His head was throbbing and aching like he’d been up reading until past midnight again. Tom blinked and sat up.  _

 

 


	2. Oblique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oblique- adj; neither parallel nor perpendicular; obscure; devious  
> Alone in the woods, Boy is faced with a dilemma - stay lost in the woods until his premature death, or put his trust in the voice in his head claiming to be named Tom. Neither option is particularly appealing.

_ Tom blinked and sat up. He was sitting on the bare ground, ice cold leaching into his very bones. Taking in his surroundings, he noticed that everything once living as far as he could see (not far; for some profound reason he was shockingly nearsighted) had been killed, rather suddenly by the looks of it. Like the aftermath of a fire, black and grey tinted the tree trunks and foliage. Not far from where he had awoken, a deer had been caught in the curious blast and had keeled over, eyes still wide open and staring directly at Tom but dull and milky white. Fascinating, he wondered what had killed the doe and if he could recreate the event -  _

 

**Boy shook his head. The poor deer was frightening, sickening, not interesting. The sudden movement made his stomach turn and his panic, combined with the ever-constant throbbing of his head, pushed him to expel bile all over himself. The action did nothing to abate the pain, rather intensifying it to the point he pulled back from reality, trying to block out the pain as he did when Uncle started wailing on him -**

 

_ Tom grit his teeth and pulled back to the surface of his thoughts, confused as to why it felt like dragging himself through mud, like this mind wasn’t his own. It felt like breaking free from imperio, the few times he had managed it. Trying to stand up got him nothing but more nausea and moisture on his upper lip. He reached up to wipe at what he presumed was sweat and lowered fingers, skin dark brown and not milky white as he expected, and, more shockingly - they were smeared with red. The sight of his own blood was shocking - was he dying? Was it stress from this unknown event that would do him in, alone in these woods with no one likely to even find his body, rather than Dumbledore or Dark Arts or anything other than his own stupidity? - _

 

**Boy ignored the unreasonable fear that seeing his blood had instilled and wiped away what he could of his impromptu nosebleed. He’d thought that any fear of an untimely death had been beaten out of him by age five, but apparently some deep-ingrained instincts remained. Perhaps Uncle had dumped him here because of some trauma-inducing brain damage? After all, he was scared of a little blood and thought his name was Tom. Clearly he had gotten hit over the head one time too many and the Dursleys decided they were better off without him. Boy’s confusion turned to despair as he wondered how he would survive now that he was without a home and a family. Sure, Uncle was a bit strict, but a rough hand was better than none -**

 

_ What in Merlin’s name was wrong with him? Tom’s head felt fuzzy and too-full, the dull throb of an oncoming migraine making it hard to think. These conflicting thoughts were only adding to the physical pain washing over him. He was fighting someone or something else for control over his body and mind. First feeling empathy for a dead animal, now worrying about where he would rest his head. It felt like he was back in Wool’s, not living as the greatest Dark Lord Europe had ever seen, but that was absurd. The pain was too real to be a fever dream or some spell, though. Perhaps the Malfoy library had something on the topic of shared conscious, if that was what he was experiencing, but the question still remained as to how this had happened to him. Just yesterday he had been with Bella plotting the next step of his takeover and now he was stranded in the middle of the woods without his wand -  _

 

**The trauma must have done more than knock a few screws loose. Boy began to question whether or not this was simple insanity he was experiencing (though could he truly be insane if he recognized it?). These names and thoughts rushing through his head felt too structured to be from his own imagination, but what else could they be? Bella and Lucius and ‘dark arts’ sounded like something straight out of one of Dudley’s books, the ones Boy wasn’t supposed to read but somehow still wound up in his cupboard at night -**

 

_ If he could stop calling himself Boy that would be wonderful, please and thanks. Such a degrading name for a powerful wizard -  _

 

**But what else would be call himself? It’s not like he had a name or anything that a proper person did. He was called Boy, and he was thankful for being addressed at all -**

 

_ The concept of shared consciousness was seeming more and more legitimate.  _

 

**What did that even mean? Who was Boy supposed to be sharing his brain with? He didn’t think a concussion could cause this sort of issue, but there was a reason he isn’t a doctor.**

 

_ Shared consciousness, meaning there are two sentient persons contained in one body, sharing one mind. This entity’s name is Tom, and apparently the other prefers to be addressed as Boy for some asinine reason.  _

 

**Great, now his alternate personality was coming up with a name AND giving him lip.**

 

_ This was not a topic up for debate at this time, he decided. They would both have to work together for the time being, at least until they weren’t at imminent risk of death via blood loss or starvation, whichever came first. If they could hold back on the arguing until they reached civilization, then an in-depth conversation could take place about the possible mental break which had occurred.  _

 

**Yes, it was probably best that Boy make his way to the nearest road and catch a ride into town. If he was lucky, Uncle hadn’t put too much effort in to getting rid of him and he could beg for forgiveness. First things first, though, he had to stand up without fainting, which didn’t seem very likely given his current state of being.**

 

Boy-Tom clenched his jaw and tried to rise to his feet. Again he felt blood trickle down his philtrum and into his mouth, but could ignore the taste of copper for now. He got as far as kneeling before needing a break to swallow back the stomach acid rising up his esophagus. The ringing in his ears had gotten louder, like his skull had been transfigured into a train station at rush hour. A bone-deep pounding took up residence in his temples, the headache he’d been fighting since he woke up finally developing into a migraine. He took a short break at that point, waiting for his heart to return to just-shy-of-a-heart-attack, rather than the hummingbird that had been fluttering in his chest. When he could breathe once more, he pushed himself to his feet. Blinding pain washed over him for a second, starbursts popping in front of him for a few seconds. The blood draining down the back of his throat had not abated - rather, the flow had gotten heavier. Boy-Tom refused to pay it any mind, lest he fall back into the existential despair he had experienced the first time he noticed the blood. 

Finally he was standing. Though still too short and nearsighted to see very far, Boy-Tom took stock of his surroundings; as far as he could tell the forest was dead, completely wiped out. Leaves, blackened and brittle despite the relatively warm air and moisture saturating the air, clung futilely to the branches of dead trees. Ground ferns and brambles were withered and grey, leaves covering the ground beneath them and stems stiff. Here and there lay a bird or a rabbit, carcasses deflated and past the first few steps of decay but untouched by scavengers. The woods he stood in were dead, but hadn’t been that way for very long. Off in the distance, just close enough to be heard if he focused, the rush of tires on asphalt - then it was gone and silence reigned for minutes on end. Boy-Tom took as much time as he could spare simply breathing, trying to put the constant burning pain radiating through his body behind brick walls in his mind. His efforts made a dent in the aching, enough so that he could wiggle his fingers and toes without wanting to keel over. 

The next time he heard the tell-tale signs of traffic in the distance, he could pinpoint a vague direction to take off in. When it came to moving his feet, however, it took a few seconds to build up the courage to begin moving. The first step was the worst, every nerve lighting up with the pain of a dozen angry hornets. As he maintained momentum it became easier to ignore the glowing embers embedded in his skin. Moving through the woods was tough on Boy-Tom’s weak body, emaciated as he was from years of malnourishment and improperly-healed broken bones, still dripping blood from his nose though it had slowed considerably, eyesight fading in and out like his hearing and blurry past two meters in front of him regardless. He tripped over fallen trees and was slapped across the face by a fair share of low-reaching limbs. It was slow going, and over the course of ten minutes he had to take fifteen breaks, leaning against trees in an effort to take the strain off his weak, throbbing legs. As much as he wanted to sit and rest his head on the ground, Boy knew the limits of his body - sit down, and he might not make it back onto his feet. Tom decided to take his word for it, not wanting to risk being stranded still lost in the thick stand of trees. 

The road was nearly a kilometer away from where Boy-Tom had woken up. From where he watched just before the edge of the treeline, he could tell it wasn’t frequented. The white paint was worn down and non-existent in some spots. Potholes and shoddy patch jobs turned the asphalt into some trashed hodge-podge mosaic. Along the edge of the road grasses and and squat weeds tried futilely to reclaim the land, roots grasping at grey tar and leaves reaching, begging, towards the sky. The trees Boy-Tom took shelter in had been beyond the reach of the unnatural phenomenon that had wiped out all life in (as well as he could measure) a half-kilometer radius from where he had laid, thankfully keeping the strange event from immediate discovery. His eyes tracked a car as it turned the bend a ways down the road, accelerating along the straight-away directly in front of him. Then it was gone, leaving only the sound of a rattling motor in its wake. His best bet for transportation into civilization was a driver cruising down this road, and he would take the first offer not made by a murderer or child rapist if he could help it. 

Tom told Boy to flag down the next vehicle, but Boy was hesitant to step out of the shadows he had been hiding in. Just from turning his head from side to side, he could tell his chin and neck were stained with blood, tacky and rusting on his skin. He thanked Merlin that the bleed had stopped during his walk, but he was still left with the aftermath. Sadly, there had been no running water between the road and where he had woken up, so he couldn’t clean himself before asking for a ride. On top of the blood, Boy was sure he was covered in dirt and who knew what else from lying on the forest floor, scabs and bruises from time spent with Uncle, ratty clothes torn and stretched out by Dudley before being passed off. No doubt the first person to spot him would veer off the road in an attempt to either to avoid or hit him. 

There was nothing he could do about his appearance now, though. Boy-Tom took a hesitant step into the meager sunlight and, when havok was not unleashed, slowly made his way up to the edge of the pavement. The next vehicle to turn the corner was an articulated lorry. Tom gave some snide remark about the odds of him surviving the trip into town, which Boy promptly ignored. The driver apparently spotted Boy-Tom and flashed his headlights, slowing to a stop near him. Gears clunked as the vehicle was thrown into park and the driver’s door opened. 

“Christ!” An older man, pale and round and friendlier than expected, rounded the cab and rushed towards Boy-Tom, who flinched violently away from the sharp movement. The trucker paused, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “What happened to you? You’re covered in blood, kid!”

Boy willingly passed the reins to Tom, as he hadn’t had much opportunity to talk to strangers while confined to the Dursley’s house and yard. “I- I was hiking on a trail with my parents an’ I saw somethin’ really cool so I went to look at it an’ when I turned around they were just gone!” Tom threw in a sniffle for good measure, wiping at his cheeks like there were tears spotting them. “I’ve been looking for ‘em for hours now. I tripped over a tree and broken my glasses and my nose started bleeding and I couldn’t get it to stop  and - and -” Tom cut himself off at that point, scrunching his face up for a few seconds before raising his eyes to the driver, cheeks spotted with moisture, waiting to see if the story had stuck. 

The man was frowning like something didn’t add up, and for a second Tom worried he’d be called out on his lie. “I’ll give you a ride into Lymington. That much blood is dangerous, nose bleed or not. Plus the hospital can call up the police, and we can see if you parents have reported you missing already.” He nodded to himself for a brief moment before turning and opening the passenger door. “Hop on up, kid. You got a name?”

Tom eyed the man wearily before scrambling into the cab as gracefully as he could. “Yes sir. Tom Riddle.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've really been enjoying having a muse again, hopefully the trend will continue! A few things I feel like mentioning early on for y'all readers:
> 
> 1\. In this story, Harry is a POC. I know that Daniel Radcliffe is very white, and Rowling has said/implied that canon Harry is white, but I really think the story needs some more diversity and I think a lot his treatment would be explained if he wasn't white... Anyway. If anyone reading this is a POC and disagrees with my portrayal of any of the cultures, PLEASE give me advice on how to improve! I don't aim to insult and I definitely want to fix any problems or insulting things I've written!  
> 2\. I am very much so American, and I'm not super comfortable with British slang, culture, geography, etc. Again, if you're British and see something I should/need to change, PLEASE tell me! See above statement about wanting to improve!  
> 3\. This is just a little bit of nerdy shit but there's a mention of where, specifically, Harry's head is hurting. This isn't just me having fun (it kind of is, but w/e). The temporal and frontal lobes of the brain are thought to control personality and morals! Without getting into stuff that'll be revealed later on, Harry's 'situation' has caused some problems in those departments.  
> 4\. You can find me on tumblr at homestucknerd if you want. I appreciate anything you want to say to me in the comments here!
> 
> Finally, super big thanks to my friend, lil-snips, for reading this over!


	3. Amalgamate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amalgamate - verb; combine or unite to form one organization or structure  
> Finally back in civilization, Boy-Tom resorts to questionable behavior in order to have a safe place to rest his head. If it's done in the effort of self-preservation, he can't be punished that bad, right?

Paper crinkled beneath Boy-Tom as he shifted for the hundredth time, twirling his thumbs, waiting for the doctor who “would be seeing him, now.” The nurses had been kind when the truck driver brought him in, leading him to an empty room and bringing him a clean shirt when his blood-soaked hand-me-downs were deemed a lost cause. Luckily, he’d been allowed to change in privacy, though that was the extent to which he received it. He’d been on the receiving end of plenty pitying glances from them during the whole process of getting cleaned up, though he had come to expect pity given his history. No life-threatening injuries had been found when he got a standard check-up, and the few scrapes he had picked up during his trek through the woods were cleaned and bandaged. It was the best treatment he could recall ever having gotten. 

Now, though, he had been sitting in a bereft room for what felt like half an hour. His eyes roamed the walls, looking for something to distract himself, while waiting for a professional. The walls were white, broken up by posters detailing common illnesses and common symptoms. Light blue cabinets were lined up in the corner, likely full of medical equipment. The bright fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell hanging in the air was aggravating the headache he’d had since waking up, coming close to pushing him over the edge into migraine territory.

_ We shouldn’t even be here,  _ Tom thought.  _ If we had just killed the driver when we had a chance… _

**He was not going to make a habit of killing people just because they’re ‘witnesses of moments of weakness’ or whatever. Murder is a serious thing, and should be reserved for people deserving of it. Plus, he was probably never going to see that man again, so what did it matter if he’d been seen covered in blood, spinning some tale about being lost?**

At that moment, before Tom could rebut that murder was perfectly acceptable, the door to the room he was in opened. Boy immediately slipped into the back of his mind again, still cautious of interacting with strangers, and trusting Tom’s easy charm to get them out of whatever situation they had found themselves in. 

Instead of the white coat Tom had been expecting, two men in black jackets with flat police caps walked in, accompanied by a nurse in light pink scrubs. Their presence was a wrench thrown in his plans, but so long as Social Services weren’t brought in, he could work with this. 

One of the men came over and sat beside him while the other remained standing, leaning against the wall next to the door the nurse had closed behind herself after showing them in. The man beside him pulled out a notepad and a biro. The man at the door shifted his weight and cleared his throat. 

“So. Tom, is it?” he paused, giving Tom time to nod in agreement. “We’ve got a few questions to ask. Protocol, you understand.”

When he got no response other than an expectant look, the man continued. “We were speaking to the man who brought you in, but we wanted to hear the story from you. Can you go over what all happened to you today?”

Tom sighed, gaze dropping to the floor. He hated playing the scared child, but it was his best bet if he wanted to get away from the officials.

“Well, sir, as I told the man who gave me a ride into town, I’d been hiking in the woods with my parents. They were takin’ a quick break - not as young as they used to be, da said - an’ I saw a cool lookin’ rock formation that I thought would be fun to climb on. I went over to explore it, an’ the next thing I knew I couldn’t find the way back! I was dreadfully scared and was gettin’ more ‘n more lost tryin’ to get back to ‘em, but I heard cars so I figured that was my best choice. I followed the sound, and ended up right where the man found me.” 

The man beside him was scribbling down quick notes while the other nodded, a frown on his face. “The nurses said you came in covered in blood, looking like you’d been mauled by a bear. What happened?”

Tom dropped his gaze to his feet, dangling over the edge of the bed he was perched on. “I weren’t watchin’ where I was goin’ and tripped, fell right on my face. Hurt like the dickens, an’ my nose started bleeding something awful. Snapped my glasses right in half, too. I didn’t realize it had gotten as bad as it did, though, till the truck driver near ‘bout had a heart attack when he saw me. The nurses said it was one of the worst nosebleeds they’d seen in awhile.”

The officers nodded, dropping the subject and seeming, to Tom at least, to have been convinced of the mundane story. They went over a few other details, like what his imaginary parents looked like and where they might be found. 

The officer beside him stood up, putting away his notes and tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. “Hopefully your parents’ll turn up at the station soon. We’ll have to take you there, understand, for your own safety. Can’t have a kid as young as you wandering the streets alone - it gets horribly cold once the sun sets in November.”

The mention of winter months made Boy pull up short, but Tom ignored his reaction - he had his own to deal with, equally as shocked. He blinked, for some reason having not predicted that this would be the outcome of being stranded without a guardian in muggle England. Boy’s presence popped up in his mind, curious about what Tom was inwardly freaking out about. 

**We’ve got to get away from them,** he suggested.  **Ask to use the bathroom before you leave for the station.**

Tom did just that, with a few shy glances at the ground and a light blush thrown in to fit the part of embarrassed child he was playing. Sure enough, the officers smiled and directed him just down the hall from the room. 

He turned the corner out of their line of sight and glanced around, noting the sign directing to the men’s room and ignoring it. Boy was now just under the surface, riding shotgun with Tom. He followed the glowing red ‘exit’ signs hung from the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with nurses and other patients and doing his best to give the impression that he knew where he was going when they paid him more than a passing glance. No one bothered stopping him when he walked out the front doors and into the street. 

Now that he was out in civilization, Tom realized that he didn’t know where to go. The town they were in, Lymington, was a port town in the southern end of England - nowhere near within his comfort zone. He didn’t even know if there was a wizarding community nearby. At that thought Boy forced his way into the driver’s seat, steering into a park, where he collapsed into a bench and closed his eyes. 

**Let’s talk, shall we?** Boy began, making a conscious effort to think in proper sentences, as if he were talking to someone else. Which was true, or he’d fully snapped, Boy figured. No harm in it either way.  **You are probably not a figment of my imagination created due to a psychotic break or whatever. That means I have some questions that are going to be answered before anything else happens.**

If he had his own body, Tom would be smirking.  _ It took some time, but I am glad to see you’ve come around to my idea. Ask away, child. _

**Are you mental?**

That… was not what Tom was expecting.

**Why do you keep going on about wizards and magic and all that fantasy stuff, talking like it’s real?**

_ Simple - because it IS real. _ Tom could tell a verbal explanation wouldn’t do much to convince Boy.  _ I am a wizard, Boy. I’d wager that you are too, since you can sustain two people in your body, despite clearly not being in the best state.  _

**You ask so much of me, to believe you at face value.** A frown creased Boy’s brow.  **Whatever, it’s not like I have many options. So, you’re a wizard. I’m a wizard. Awesome.**

_ Come now, don’t try to tell me you’ve never noticed some of the weird things that happen around you. Maybe some help with those chores your relatives forced upon you, hmm? _

Boy shrugged. He had noticed an uncanny ability to change the outcomes of situations if he had to, like the time he repaired a broken dish before Aunt saw it. Or the time he floated something off the top shelf because he really, really needed it for dinner, then proceeded to float everything off the shelf just to see if he could. He had then put it all back before Uncle could come in and try to beat any freakishness out of him. The thought made him giddy - he wasn’t a useless freak like Uncle said - but he buried the feeling for another time, when there weren’t other things to be discussed.  **Another question - who are you? All I know is your name, and that apparently you’re magical.**

Tom didn’t really have a choice but to tell Boy the truth. They shared a brain, so they knew when the other was telling a lie, or an incomplete truth.  _ I am Tom Riddle, the greatest Dark Lord wizarding europe has ever seen. _

**Great, thanks for explaining absolutely nothing.**

_ Well, what do you want to know? I’m technically 54 years old, born in 1926. For a long while I’ve gone under the pseudonym Lord Voldemort, and I had a large and loyal following. We were going to change everything about our world.  _

**What happened?**

Tom went silent. 

Boy waited for him to speak up for a minute. When nothing happened, he decided to reciprocate and share a bit about himself. Even if Tom did have free reign with his memories.  **Well, as far as I’m aware, my name is Boy. My parents died in a drunk driving accident when I was a year old, and I was sent to live with my mother’s sister. In exchange for food and a roof over my head, I took care of the cleaning. And the cooking. And whatever else Uncle told me to take care of.**

_ Looks like we’ve got quite a bit in common, Boy.  _ Tom spoke up after another minute of silence.  _ I grew up in an orphanage, and lots of the other kids mocked and bullied me. I grew cold and detached, and eventually they learned to pay me the respect I deserved. We will make sure that the same happens to your relatives, in time.  _

**I think I like the sound of that, Tom.**

He sat of the bench for some time, thankful that his headache was receding to the point of barely-there throbbing with his heartbeat. There was another topic Boy wanted to discuss with Tom before they did anything else that day. 

**If we’re going to be doing this co-inhabiting thing, we need to work out how we’re going to be controlling the body. I’m not willing to sit in the backseat and let you make all the decisions for us, and I’m sure you’re of a similar mind. What would be the best course of action, in your opinion?**

_ You are correct in that I won’t let you make all the decisions, either. However, it seems most likely that this body was primarily yours before whatever event which conjoined us occured. Perhaps we could find some middle ground? I wouldn’t be opposed to letting you run the show some of the time, so long as we both have a part in our actions when it comes to a monumental situation.  _

**You’re surprisingly willing to give up control,** Boy noted. He had expected a bit more resistance, not that he was complaining.  **I’m not going to lie, I wouldn’t mind having you present when I interact with others. I’m not very… well-versed in socializing, and you could charm the pants off a snake.**

Tom sent a sense of humor Boy’s way but remained otherwise silent, willing to drop the topic of conversation now that the situation had, at least for the time being, been worked out.

However much Boy wanted to talk about the specifications of their control balance, the shadows on the ground were getting longer and the sun was beginning to duck behind the tree tops around him. He had to find somewhere to rest his head for the night, though the lack of money in his pockets might cause a bit of an issue. 

_ I could… ‘find’ us some money, _ Tom offered. Boy was hesitant to accept the suggestion of what was definitely implied theft, but the air was already cooling and the nurses had only given him a t-shirt. 

**Take the reins, Tom.**

 

In the end, it was shocking easy to pickpocket 60 pounds over the course of an hour. Tom had the stickiest fingers, and Boy ample experience hiding from adult eyes. Parents distracted in stores by noisey children and young adults out for drinks with their friends were apparently the easiest target. The whole time Tom was grumbling about how he ‘shouldn’t have to stoop to petty thievery’ but Boy could tell he enjoyed taking from the ‘muggles.’ Boy enjoyed the adrenaline rushing through his veins as well.

Once the wad of bills were tucked into his pocket, Tom pushed open the front doors of the sketchiest hotel they had found. A young woman was sitting behind the reception desk, smacking gum between her teeth and picking at her nail polish. It would work in his favor, that she seemed unwilling to interact with customers any more than strictly necessary - if she wanted him out of her hair, she would be more likely to give in to whatever tale he spun. 

He approached the desk, fishing out the money and flipping through it, pretending to count the bills even though he already knew the exact amount he was holding. She glanced up, took in his scuffed up attire and no-doubt exhausted expression, and snorted. 

Before Tom could even open his mouth she was speaking. “Oh my god, how old are you, like five?” Her voice wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but the tone she used grated on his nerves and made his upper lip twitch with the urge to sneer. 

“How much is a single bed for one night?” he chose to ignore her over-exaggeration, prefering to get this interaction over with as soon as possible. 

She didn’t even bother to look at him when she answered with, “We can’t give a room key to a minor, kiddo.”

This time he did sneer for a second before smothering the expression, replacing it with a wide doe-eyed look. “My dad’s just across the street, picking up dinner. We’ve been in the car all day and just want to sleep, can’t you cut us a bit of slack?”

A sigh, then, “My boss’ll have my head if I don’t get your dad’s signature.”

Tom made a show of counting out 50 pounds, almost twenty over the cost being advertised on the sign outside, then laid them flat on the counter. “My dad can swing by in the morning and sign the form, right?”

The girl eyes the pile of money, glanced between it and Tom, and scoffed before slowly reaching out to take it. 

“Uh, yea, sure,” she said as she slid back in the wheeled office chair she was sat in and grabbed a key off of the peg board on the far wall. “Here, Room 27. Keep it down, and check out is at 10. Make sure it’s your dad who comes by the front desk in the morning, yea?”

Tom took the key, offering her a tight smile and a nod before he turned and walked out of the building. Once back out in the nippy air, he allowed himself a real smile. A roof over his head with no strings attached, even if just for the night, gave Boy a sense of freedom he had never before experienced. He even had 10 pounds left, enough to go to the convenience store around the corner and buy more food than the Dursleys ever gave him in a week. The realization that he was actually free of the abuse made him weak in the knees, and he needed to pause and lean up against the side of the building for a few moments to catch his breath.

The convenience store had bright fluorescent lights like the hospital did, buy Boy was high on the euphoria of the mere thought that he would be sleeping in an actual bed that night. Sure, there were probably roaches in the walls and bed bugs in the mattress, but anything was better than the cupboard he had called his bedroom. Careful to remain under his budget, Tom grabbed two bottles of water, a small bag of crisps, and a bag of beef jerky. He’d allow himself to indulge and eat unhealthily just this once. The cashier smiled at him, clearly amused by Tom’s choice of dinner, but let him go without comment once he paid. 

The hotel room wasn’t nearly as bad, in Boy’s opinion, as it could have been. Tom was complaining about the peeling paint and tacky color combinations, but Boy was glad to flop into the mattress and sink in for a long few minutes, tense muscles finally having a chance to relax. He was fully alone, outside of his head, and he could do whatever he wanted to do. 

He wanted to take a long, hot shower. 

Boy rolled out of the bed and trudged into the bathroom, shedding his clothes on his way. He flicked the overhead light on, ignoring the momentary stabbing behind his eyeballs at the harshness of it, and went to turn on the shower, catching a glance of his reflection in the mirror momentarily. He froze.

His eyes were glued to the mirror. Dull green irises stared back, set in a thin and hollowed out face. His deep bronze skin, normally a rich shade from hours spent under the sun in the peak of summer, had paled considerably. From his scalp, unruly black hair rose as if it was a sentient being itself, curled and voluminous. Where before it had been hacked off at his ear lobes by Aunt, it now almost reached his shoulders. What once was an untameable mess now came close to falling in what could be considered, under a very loose definition, waves. His narrow face lead to a narrow body, bones protruding enough to imply a lifetime of malnourishment. What muscle he had possessed seemed to have partially been atrophied, leaving his frame tipping more towards emaciated than lean. Boy tried to avert his eyes, not a fan of his reflection, but Tom kept them trained on the mirror - mainly, on Boy’s face. 

_ Without a doubt, this is not my body, _ Tom murmured. The ghost of an image flashed in his mind, a lanky but healthy young man, skin pale and obviously not often touched by the sun’s rays. 

**This is me,** Boy confirmed. 

Tom’s gaze lingered on the hair and dark skin, flicking up to the faint scar on his forehead shaped like a lightning bolt, just barely a lighter shade than the rest of his face. 

_ I… I think I know who you are. _ The features matched up, but Boy was ten years old, meaning… Tom seemed hesitant to admit it, but knew he couldn’t keep this monumental information away from his bodymate. 

_ I knew, in a sense, your parents. _

Boy didn’t interrupt with something as specific as words, but an overwhelming feeling of shock and anticipation.

_ Their names were James and Lily Potter. They had one son, as far as I am aware. His name was Harry. _

Boy took a moment to absorb that fact. Abstractly, he had been aware that everyone had a set of parents. He knew that at some point, two people had created him. Knowing their names, though, was something he had never predicted. Boy - no, his name was Harry, his parents had given him a  **name** \- was being buffeted by waves of emotion which he could not put a name to. 

**How did you know them?**

Tom was silent for an erie amount of time, enough that Boy - Harry - thought for a second that he was gone.

_ Let’s shower and eat before your bedtime story, okay? _

Begrudgingly, B-  **Harry** realized that Tom probably had a reason to delay the telling of his past. Without further vocalizing his dissent, he turned the shower on as high as it would go and stepped under the stream. 

If it had been acceptable, he would have slept in the shower, muscles being massaged by the weak water pressure overhead. What’s more, the heat was clouding his brain like the steam in the air, pushing his headache out of focus. Since Tom deemed it unacceptable, though, Harry had to finish scrubbing up and step out from under the stream. It was likely for the better, as the water was starting to cool as he and the other hotel patrons pushed the water heater to its limits. 

Once out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, Harry noted that he didn’t have any particularly clean clothes. He didn’t mind his worn jeans and shirt when he was out and about, but he refused to wear his ratty, dirty boxers to bed. Shrugging, he forewent getting dressed and instead prowled around the room in his towel, switching on a lamp and turning off the overhead lights before he dived directly under the sheets, snagging his bag of ‘dinner.’ 

The water cooled his parched throat and reminded him of just how dehydrated he was. One of the bottles was emptied before he even opened the first bag of food. The beef jerky was even better than the water, and he made quick work of the entire bag. At that point his stomach was bordering on over-full, so he set the bag of crisps on the bedside table for later. The second water he opened and drank half of before it joined the crisps on the table. 

**Can you tell me about my parents now, Tom?** Harry hated to feel like a child, but the prospect of knowing more about his family made him giddy. 

_ It is not a pleasant story, child. This is not a tale about how close of friends we were - it is a story of their death. _

That made Harry hesitate, but he had never been told anything about either of his parents, even in passing, from Aunt or Uncle. There were no memories to be tainted by the knowledge of their final moments.

Tom started his retelling with the backstory - _ As I said, I was a notorious Dark Lord. Your parents were well-known fighters on the other side of the war. An in-depth discussion about each party’s platforms can be held at a later time, _ Tom said before Harry could butt in.  _ They had given birth to you a year prior, but were still prominent figures on the opposition’s side. I was told by a trustworthy source that a child had been born that would bring about my downfall, and sought to kill the opposition before they had a chance to kill me. You were the only child I knew of that fit the description. _

A pit formed in Harry’s stomach, and he regretted stuffing himself.

_ It was the night of Samhain, what muggles call Halloween. I came to your house alone and killed your father while he was unarmed. Your mother asked me to spare you, offered her own life instead, but I needed you dead. I killed her, then tried to kill you. _

_ There is one spell which brings instant death, and cannot be stopped or reflected through any known means. I cast that spell on you that night, and somehow you rebounded it back on me.  _

His mind was silent, empty, for too long. The words  _ ‘I killed her’ _ echoed like some demented drum or a heartbeat. His fingertips tingled like they were going numb, magic concentrated just under the skin, anxious to escape and express his tumultuous emotions.

**Why did they have to die?**

Tom tried to think of a valid explanation for his actions.  _ I know it does not truly answer your question, but they would not let me get to you while they were breathing. They loved you, wholly, and I wanted to destroy that.  _

In a twisted way, Harry understood that logic. As much as he wanted to mourn for his parents, he had never known them. No one but Tom had ever even mentioned them, given them names or a description beyond ‘unemployed sots.’ 

**Thank you for telling me about them.**

The two said nothing for a while longer. The silence was less blanketing than the previous had been, both acknowledging the others’ presence but not wanting to say or think anything. Harry rolled the concept of sharing a vessel with the man who orphaned him, but couldn’t find anger - just confusion, and a desire to learn more about the events that took place that night.

The moment was ruined when something bit his bare bottom. 

Tom seethed.  _ I am the Dark Lord Voldemort! I should not be having my arse bitten by bed bugs! I have a whole wing in the Malfoy Manor, and instead I’m in a £34 hotel room with thirty thread count sheets! _

**Well, why AREN’T we in Malfoy Manor right now?** He was glad for the distraction from the depressing topic of their shared history. 

_ You… actually have a good point there. Tomorrow, we need to get to London. If we can track down a wizard somewhere in Lymington, I can get us to Malfoy Manor.  _

**Sounds like a plan to be made AFTER** **we get some sleep,** Harry suggested. His eyelids were heavy and kept drooping shut, though he tried his hardest to keep them open. 

He reached out and flicked off the lamp, plunging the room into pitch darkness. With heavy curtains draped over the windows, the only light was that of street lamps outside leaking in around the door. All thoughts of sleeping vanished as Harry’s eyes lock into the outline of the door, illogical fear gripping his lungs so tight he can’t draw in even the faintest of breaths. His vision tunneling, black darkness like ink filling his throat and choking the life out of him, his body stiffens as if being overtaken by rigor mortis. Everything is burning as if  he is drowning in solid ice and he can’t do anything but endure it for hours, days, decades, body not dead and not living, suspending and crazing release - 

_ Tom reached out and turned the bedside lamp back on, washing the room with stale yellow light and burning back the waking nightmare that had dug it’s needle-like claws into him.  _

Harry sputtered and gasped, sucking in air so fast he choked and was sent into a coughing fit. Frost still gripped his limbs, but was thawing gradually. He couldn’t stop shaking, felt like his entire body was going to fall apart with the strength of it. 

_ You’re okay, we’re okay, we’re alive, _ Tom murmured. He, too, was shaken by the sleep paralysis that felt more like a memory.  _ We can sleep with the lamp on. The darkness won’t get you, I promise. We’re okay. _

Slowly, Harry stopped shivering. His body went limp on the bed, exhaustion filling his every pore. Night had never been a particularly pleasant time for him, but he had never reacted like that before. Tom maintained his soft whispering of reasurances, bordering on the edge of what some might consider cooing, as the two drifted towards the realm of sleep. The yellow lamp light reached into all  but the darkest crevices of the room and kept the worst of the nightmares at bay, at least for the time being, and Harry managed to finally fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one in the books! Please tell me your thoughts, good, bad, or indifferent. I want to make this fic the best it can be.  
> More chapter notes, because I have a lot of things to say!
> 
> 1\. Harry is getting to be very sassy and I am LOVING writing his like this. I refuse to back down. He is also a vindictive lil' shit and I budge on this point, either.  
> 2\. I don't know if anyone caught it, but Tom is actually not 54 like he said he was! He still thinks it's 1980. Hate to break it to ya, Tommy, but you qualify for the senior discount now.  
> 3\. Self-care is stealing money from strangers to rent a probably-bedbug-infested hotel room.  
> 4\. two 'Easter eggs' or whatever here: Tom was basically a kleptomaniac in his youth, and the room they got at the hotel (27) was canonically his room at Wool's Orphanage! Tom probably noticed this too but didn't say anything about it bc he doesn't believe in coincidence or any of that nonsense.  
> 5\. I am 17 years old and can safely say I, too, could be bribed with 10 pounds  
> 6\. Harry @ the front desk lady when she called him five: I love how people are telling me I'm too, nine years old. I'm eleven, so shut the fuck up.  
> 7\. tom: i knew your parents  
> harry: !!!!!  
> tom: i killed them  
> Harry _(larger and in bold)_ : !!!!!!  
> 8\. I tried my best to describe his race in non-fetishistic terms. If there is ANYTHING I need to improve, PLEASE tell me. In this story, the Potters were from South India. Lily was still Caucasian, so Harry is mixed race and dark skinned. I will try my hardest to be polite and do Indian culture right, but if there's something wrong with my write I very much so want to know so I can learn and not make the same mistakes ever again. Thank you!  
> 9\. I can still be found at homestucknerd on tumblr, if you wanna chat about anything fandom or real-life related
> 
> I got myself a beta readers, so huge thanks to marvelmakesmefeelthings!


	4. Cognizance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cognizance - noun; knowledge, awareness, or notice  
> Tom makes it his duty to educate young Harry on the intricacies of the Wizarding World, and Harry makes it his duty to sass every adult he comes across as much as possible. It's a decent enough arrangement, if the two do say so themselves.

Harry had woken up before the sun had even peeked over the horizon, too haunted by formless nightmares to sleep for any longer than the bare minimum his body could handle. For a moment he was confused as to why he was in a bed, cocooned by blankets and actually warm for once. The soft light from the bedside lamp bathed everything in an ethereal glow, and he wondered if he had finally died. Then he felt Tom wake up, more gradually than Harry had, and they both realized simultaneously that the previous day’s events hadn’t been a hyper-realistic dream. As if the drive the point home, his muscles and brain lit up with a dull tenderness.

After eating a breakfast of half a bottle of water and a travel-sized bag of Walker’s (Lay’s), Harry pulled on the same grungy clothes he had woken up in the other day and slipped out of the hotel room. The key he left on the bedside table, though there was nothing else in the room to even hint that someone had slept there - the bed was made, trash tucked in his pockets to be disposed of elsewhere. Before the front desk worker was even awake Harry had sneaked away, not wanting to face confrontation or legal repercussions. It was better that there were no signs of his presence. He was back out on the streets, the world around him washed out and grey in the very-early morning light. 

_ We need to find another wizard, _ Tom spoke up in comprehensive words for the first time that morning. For some reason, Harry wasn’t inclined to think his companion was a morning person. 

**Do you think we may spot one in the park? There’s probably the best bet at seeing strange, ‘non-muggle’ behavior there.**

Without waiting for explicit agreement Harry started walking, wanting to get away from the hotel and potential prying eyes. It wouldn’t do to be spotted by some do-gooder and reported to the very same police he had evaded at the hospital. 

The bench he had sat on yesterday was still empty, so Harry dropped himself on it and sighed. The air was quite nippy, not like the August mornings he had experienced before. The few pedestrians he spotted making their morning commutes through the park were moving at a brisk pace, breath forming faint cloud of water vapor around their mouths. A young woman was in the midst of her morning jog, decked out in full-length sweatpants and a fitted sweatshirt. An older man was, contrarily, taking his time and he walked down the sidewalk, travel mug in his hands steaming. The sun was rising quickly in the east, bringing colors into the world again. Bright gold sunlight painted the trees and grass around them, and the first bird calls of the day filled the air as singers were awoken by their natural alarm clock. 

**Where are we trying to get to?** Harry figured he ought to fill the silence while they were people-watching. 

_ As we agreed last night, we’re trying to find someone I knew before I was caught up with you. Our best bet is tracking him to his place of employment, the Ministry of Magic.  _ When Harry offered no response other than minor confusion, Tom decided to explain further.  _ The Ministry is the governing body of the magical world. Their buildings also house what equates the the magical form of Parliament, the Wizengamot. That is where I think we will find Lucius, as he is a member of said body. _

Harry nodded (seemingly to himself, if seen by a bystander).  **So we go to the Ministry, find this friend of yours, and convince him to help us out.**

_ Exactly.  _

Harry sat on his bench for a long time, just observing the world around him as everything slowly woke up. More people were streaming in and out of various buildings within his sight. Children’s laughter now blended with the background murmuring of strangers, toddlers taken on errands with their parents enjoying a break to pull up grass and dig in the dirt. Harry was blissfully isolated from the interactions he was watching occur around him, his bench tucked in the shadow of a large oak tree. 

_ As much as I want to let you enjoy yourself today, I must remind you that we need a wizard. I don’t think we’re going to have much luck in the middle of Lymington -  _

As if deliberately timing it to prove Tom wrong, a young man chose that moment to strut down the sidewalk directly in front of Harry. He wore a light blue knee-length robe, open at the front and showing off the crisp white shirt underneath. “Of course today is the day I oversleep, missing the Wizengamot case I’m on trial in!”

As if his attire and mentioning the wizarding court of law weren’t enough to indicate this man as a member of wizarding society, there was something  **off** about this man when Harry squinted. Like a cloud of purple, barely there and liable to disappear if he wasn’t focusing extremely hard on it. Tom couldn’t explain it when Harry sent an inquisitorial feeling his way, but it was enough to convince both of them that this man was their ticket out of the muggle world. 

Harry hopped to his feet and tailed the wizard, remaining more than a few paces behind and clinging to buildings like they could offer him a hiding place if confronted. Tom wanted to jump the man and find out where exactly the entrance to the wizarding world was without blindly following, but Harry knew this was the easiest, safest option. 

He was lead to a rather shady building in the southern end of the town, salty ocean breezes filling his nose. The sign hanging over the door read  _ ‘Wallace’s Palace,’  _ and the windows were blacked out to prevent any muggles seeing something they shouldn’t. Harry waited a solid five minutes after the stranger entered and nothing happened before he followed suit, nerves steeled for whatever would be on the other side of the door. 

He was prepared for a skeevy bar or perhaps the magical version of a truck stop. What Harry opened the door to was, instead, a brightly-lit pub. The tables and bar were packed with people dressed similarly to the person he had followed here, each of their conversations carrying through the air and preventing him from hearing any actually words. Trays of food floated, unattended, though the air and to various tables. A game of darts was being played in the corner, though instead throwing physical objects, the players had sticks in their hands and were taking turns creating golden needles, flying through the air and embedding themselves in corkboard on the wall. 

While the activity was distracting and more than a bit overwhelming, what made both Harry and Tom freeze was the colors filling the entire room. Just as the wizard they had followed had been engulfed in a purple bubble, almost every person here seemed to be swathed  in a gauzy curtain, varying from orange brighter than the rising sun that morning to the same shade of blue as the sky at midnight. The clouds didn’t obscure harry’s vision if he didn’t focus too hard on any of them, but it was different enough to throw both him and Tom off balance. 

However weird the wizarding world was, Harry couldn’t stand in the entryway much longer without drawing unwanted attention to himself. With monumental effort he made his way through the crowded room, sliding by just under the eye level of all the adults and blending in with the shadows underfoot. Popping up at the bar, Tom rose up from beneath the surface and put on his friendliest, most innocent smile. He waited patiently until the bartender glanced his way, continued running his gaze down the length of the lie of stools, and did a double take at the young child staring at him with uncanny eyes. 

Once he had gotten the man’s attention, Tom dropped his gaze to the scuffed countertop he was leaning against, tracing the wood grain with his thumbnail. It was only when the bartender spoke to him first that he looked up again, just avoiding eye contact. 

“Hey kid, a lil’ young to be at a pub, don’t ya think?” 

Tom forced a smile on his face. “My mum sent me, dad forgot his lunch and he always likes a visit from me so I offered to take it to him.” He paused to pat his front pocket, pretending to have a shrunken lunch sack in it. “Thing is, I’m not too great at remembering instructions and I kinda forgot how to get to the Ministry. I’ve never made the trip myself, see. I thought that maybe I could get help from you, being that you’re an adult.” 

The man returned Tom’s grin and put down the glass he had been wiping down in an impersonation of every cliche bartender ever. “I got you, kid.” He jerked his head towards the wall opposite from the front door and lead town to a connected room. 

Tom walked through the door behind the tall man, maintaining a distance of several feet just to be cautious. He had a very thin orange aura, which for some reason made Harry quite hesitant to trust him. All four walls were lined with fireplaces, each unlit and completely empty. On each mantle there sat a clay bowl, filled with that he could only assume was Floo Powder. 

The man gestured to the room at large. “This here’s our floo network. I’m sure you’ve traveled with my parents this way before?” Tom nodded in agreement, since a ten year old wizard not knowing how to work a floo might raise suspicions. 

“Alright, well, I hope your da appreciates the surprise visit!”

_ That was disappointingly easy, _ Tom grumbled. He stretched as high as he could, just barely getting his fingers into the gritty dust stored in the uniform bowls. 

**Hold on one second!** Harry froze his body commedically still on the tips of his toes and straining to reach the top of the fireplace mantle.  **What is this floo thing?**

Tom forced himself back onto his heels, a pinch of Floo Dust held in his palm.  _ The floo is one of the safest forms of magical transport. You throw this dust into the fireplace, which conjured fire. Step into the fire and state your destination, and you are taken there is seconds. Completely pain-free, though it’s a rather strange feeling. _

Harry was hesitant to step face-first into flames, but Tom had an even stronger sense of self-preservation than he did. If the Dark Lord thought this was safe, Harry wasn’t going to argue with him. 

Trying to smother the smugness rising in his chest at Harry’s blind trust, Tom tossed the grit onto the flat stone bottom of the fireplace in front of him. Emerald flames rose from the ground, giving off no smoke or embers. “Ministry of Magic,” he exclaimed rather loudly. He stepped into the fireplace and immediately felt as though the ground was being pulled out from underneath him, unbalanced and  stumbling slightly before he found his footing. Tom kept his eyes wide open during the travel, though Harry wanted to squint them shut and get this adventure over with already. Multiple hearths flashed by, too fast to show anything of value. 

In what felt to Tom like two seconds and to harry like two hours they were being spat out of a large fireplace and he was barely able to catch himself before he wiped out in the middle of the Ministry Atrium. Tom brushed ash off his trousers. Without giving Harry time to gawk  at the high ceiling and polished stone he made his way across the ground level, weaving between various distracted wizards and marveling over the invisibility that being small granted him. 

It was shockingly easy, Tom discovered, to break into the small office Lucius had on the second level. There was only one wizard stationed to watch the wing, and it was only a matter of waiting for the man to get up for a trip to the toilets. There weren’t even any wards to deconstruct - amateurs. 

**What are we going to do now, Tom?**

_ Now we wait. _ If he found glee in the notion of startling Lucius, well, it was just a little harmless fun. 

 

Lucius was officially done with the general wizarding populace. He just wanted to grab his briefcase from his office and go home, where he could bitch to his beautiful, amazing wife until he didn’t want to  _ Avada  _ everyone. Honestly, who thought it wasn’t illegal to enchant a child’s doll to follow muggle children and sing nursery rhymes? To make matters worse, the defendant had been late to his own trial, dragging it out an extra hour. Truly, this job tried his sanity. With a passing nod to the older man sitting in his armchair with the Daily Prophet sprawled out on his lap, Lucius turned a corner and pushed open his office door. 

It was only thanks to years serving the Dark Lord and going on wartime raids that Lucius managed to withhold a (very manly, thank you) shriek of terror. Sitting at his desk was a scrawny, dark skinned boy, green eyes tracking Lucius calmly. Open in front of the boy was one of the many textbooks lining his walls on wizarding law, only really there for aesthetic purposes. 

Understandably, Lucius whipped out his wand and aimed it at the child. There was no reaction other than a single eyebrow raise, eerily similar to how the Dark Lord used to look at a misbehaving Death Eater before casting  _ crucio. _ That look, and the fact that the boy looked to be seven years old, made the blond hesitate. Rather that cast a spell immediately, Lucius took a step into his office, shutting the door behind himself, without taking his eyes off the trespasser. 

“Who are you, and how did you get in my office?” 

Tom smirked, lounging back in the chair as if he wasn’t being held at wand point. “As if a guard more concerned about today’s crossword than his job could keep me from places I want to be, Lucius.” The blond twitched, thrown off by the dismissive use of his first name. In the back of his mind, Harry was giggling at the absurdity of the whole situation. “I’m sure you know who I am, yes?”

Finally the wand came down as Lucius’ confidence in his own abilities wavered. “At risk of offending you, I do not think you are who you seem to be implying you are. I have not come this far in my life by trusting adolescents, you understand.”

Tom scoffed and hopped down from the chair, a twinge of embarrassment at having to physically wiggle out of the seat as his legs were too short. “I do, Lucius, and I can prove it to you.” The small boy stopped in front of Malfoy, staring up at him yet still, somehow, seeming to have dominance over the other. “Give me your arm.” 

For a second, he balked. Stared down at the kid, fear shocked out by the incredulence that this  _ boy _ was demanding he obey like a dog. The potential reality of the situation hit him again, and he was quick to extend his left arm towards the stranger. 

Tom smirked up, whispering an excited  _ Watch this _ to Harry before he slid up Lucius’ sleeve, revealing a faint grey tattoo marring the otherwise flawless and pale skin. It was the image of a human skull with a snake pouring out of the mouth and coiling up. His infamous dark mark, an image that had terrified an entire generation of wizards. Without waiting for much tension to build up, too anxious to see if this would truly work, Tom pressed a finger to the ink.

Lucius shuddered, giving a strong pull on his arm and wrenching it out of Tom’s grip. The blond looked appropriately terrified when he realized what he had done, but Tom didn’t feel like disciplining his subject so soon after being reunited. 

Realization of what the gradually darkening mark meant sunk in, and Tom could pinpoint exactly when Lucius understood who he was staring at. The blond collapsed to his knees, forehead pressed to the tiles and wand offered up in a flat palm. Tom almost reached out to grasp the stick, but Harry made his body freeze.  **I don’t want this guy’s wand!** he argued, obstinately refusing to move his arms an inch. With a heavy sigh Tom nudged Lucius with his foot, gesturing for the man to rise and ignoring the incredulous look he was receiving. He didn’t have to explain himself, and he sure as hell didn’t have to explain Harry.

**Feeling a bit protective?** the younger part of his mind asked mockingly. Tom chose to ignore the jab. 

“Well, now that that’s all sorted out, let’s go back to the Manor-”

“My lord.” Lucius flinched when Tom’s bright green eyes snapped to him. “I am sorry but I must ask, who is your, ah, host? Would you not prefer a body that was older, healthier?”

Tom opened his mouth to snap back at him, but Harry cautiously rose up instead.  **Can I try talking to him, please?** Who was Tom to deny the boy the chance to communicate in his own body?

“I would ask that you don’t insult my body, thank you very much!” Harry snapped in Lucius’ face, taking immense joy in how the blond stared back, wide-eyes, when he bared his teeth. “My name is Harry Potter and I’m not his ‘host’ or anything. We are co-inhabiting this body, for the time being, and we both ask that you pay us some respect!”

_ Entertaining, _ Tom chuckled in his head.  _ Now he obviously has more questions than answers, and we’ve thrown him off his rhythm.  _ Harry laughed softly out loud in response, only seeming to alarm Lucius more.

“Harry Potter? The Dark Lord is, ahem, ‘co-inhabiting’ with Harry Potter? I need some firewhiskey.” Lucius took a deep breath before looking down at Harry again, seeming to have more or less collected what little sanity he could to handle this situation. “So, Harry - and My Lord - I understand that you want to return to the Manor posthaste, but should we not ensure that your body is as healthy as it should be beforehand? I am sure there are some things that should be handled soon, such as your wardrobe, and it seems you are lacking a wand, as well.”

“What, you don’t like my new outfit? I think it’s quite striking, myself.” Harry was enjoying himself more than he thought he would be, given his reluctance to say a single syllable word to most people. Sure, there was a pit in his stomach full of thoughts like  **‘don’t get within arms reach of him so you have a chance at escape’** and  **‘don’t make eye contact, don’t insult his control over you,’** but he was finding himself able to manage the anxiety without turning into a pile of sniveling tears. He wondered if Tom was to blame for his new-found comfort in speaking at least part of his mind. 

“Well, it’s just, it’s all very muggle and if that’s what you want then-”

“Oh calm down, I was joking. It would be nice to actually have clothes of my own for once.” Harry missed the look Lucius sent his way at the oddity of his statement. Not paying attention to the way Tom had gone rather quiet, the boy opened the office door, then turned back to fix Lucius with an expectant look. “Well, if we’re going to be shopping, we need money, don’t you think? To the bank, I suppose!”

Shaken out of his stupor and chiding himself for wasting any time hung up on one dismissive sentence, Lucius grabbed a small leather briefcase from beside his desk and followed Harry, who had already made it down the hall and past the guard without getting even a glance. Lucius would be putting in a suggestion for a replacement tomorrow. 

Harry pulled up short in front of what Tom explained as  _ ‘the only proper wizarding bank system in Europe.’ _ Though he had been warned that the building was awe-inspiring, he hadn’t been prepared for  **this.** The building was white marble, midday sun blinding anyone who looked at it from the wrong angle. It wasn’t as excessively tall as the Ministry building had been, but there was an air of ancient superiority here that the manmade structure didn’t have. Lucius led Harry up a wide set of stairs, white and slick to match the walls, and to a set of solid bronze doors a head taller than even the adult of the two. 

Before Harry could reach for the handle, there was movement in the corner of his eye. Jumping back, he watched as the small creature he had assumed was a statue came to life and opened the door for him. The person was shorter even than himself, skin a solid shade of slate grey. He wore a garish combination of blood-red fabric and actual gold, though Harry wondered if the apprehension to the colors was some of Tom’s emotions leaking in. 

The creature locked eyes with Harry as he pulled open the door. If he had been alone in his head he would have glanced to the ground and stuttered out an apology, Tom made him hold fast.  _ Goblin culture isn’t like our own - it’s considered a sign of respect to hold eye contact.  _ Following Tom’s instructions, Harry dipped his head towards the goblin; not an outright bow, but an additional courtesy. Lucius watched the interaction with interest, and offered his own nod to the goblin as he passed by on his way into the bank. 

The came upon another set of doors just past the outer pair, this one forged of silver. Harry wondered if these goblins were like those of muggle fiction: obsessed with anything and everything shinny. It seemed like a degrading oversimplification of what Tom told his was a very intricate society. This set of doors they now faced were engraved with words. Lucius glanced dismissively over them, no doubt having passed through these doors countless times. Harry paused, wanted to get the full experience his first time, and read over the script:

**Enter, stranger, but take heed,**

**Of what awaits the sin of greed,**

**For those who take, but do not earn,**

**Must pay most dearly in their turn.**

**So if you seek beneath our floors**

**A treasure that was never yours,**

**Thief, you have been warned, beware**

**Of finding more than treasure there.**

 

The floor plan of the bank impressed Harry, even more than the stunning exterior of the building. The room was cavernous in its width and high ceilings. Obsidian counters ran the length of the room, each seating a goblin who looked very bored with their job. Witches and wizards milled around the room, queued up in front of a handful of the money tenders, leaving almost half unbothered and also seeming very bored. 

Lucius complained under his breath about tedious waiting periods, caused by a vast increase in security measures being implemented. Harry followed the older man to one of the unoccupied goblins. The creature looked up at the two wizards over his rectangular spectacles and wait for the blond man to speak. 

It was Tom who met his eyes and spoke up. “Well met, Teller Ricbert. I dare say it’s been long enough since I spoke to my vault manager in person. Is Gornuk working now?”

Ricbert smirked, exposing a mouth full of yellowed teeth. “Well met, Mister Riddle, Mister Potter. Gornuk is indeed in his office currently, as is the Potter account manager, Griphook.” Lucius moved himself back to his station behind Tom’s left elbow, his proximity making Harry’s hair stand on edge. Ricbert slid off the raised stool he was seated on behind his counter, rounding the front and gesturing for Tom to follow him as they walked down a rather long hall. At the end they reached a door, the name plaque reading  _ ‘Manager Gornuk,’  _ which didn’t really tell Harry much new about this goblin. 

They paused at the door for long enough for Ricbert to knock, get a responding knock back, and push the heavy metal door open. There was yet another goblin seated behind a desk, though this one seemed to be made for a creature of their stature and was quite low to the ground. The goblin was similar to all the others Harry had seen thus far - long ears, flat, grey skin, and a rather lot of coarse white hair on his scalp and brows. Three plush armchairs faced the desk. 

Ricbert said something curt in a foreign language ( _ Gobbledygook, _ Tom said,  _ the official goblin language _ ). When he got an equally short response, their guide nodded at each wizard and retreated from the room, closing the door behind himself. 

Gornuk grinned at Tom, gesturing to the seats in front of him. “Mister Riddle, it truly has been too long. You vaults accumulate dust and interest while you are away.”

Tom smirked back. “Indeed, Gornuk. How goes the business?”

The goblin let out a bark, which Harry assumed was their version of a laugh. “Your skills in small talk was grown dusty as well, I see. Never mind my business, I imagine you have been busy yourself, these past ten years.” 

This was the second time the date was mentioned, and it still made Tom’s head spin. “I am afraid I haven’t been using my time as effectively as I could. Now, on to what I came here for today-”

Tom was interrupted by a heavy-handed knock on the door. At Gornuk’s responding grunt the door opened, revealing yet another short, white-haired goblin.  **I am going to have a hard time telling all of these guys apart,** Harry whined. 

“Well met, Lord Malfoy, Mister Potter, Mister Riddle. Well met, Gornuk.” 

“ah, you would be the Potter accounts manager, yes? Manager Griphook?”

Griphook nodded and joined Gornuk on the other side of the large desk. Without a second desk chair in sight, the goblin snapped his fingers. Out of thin air a squat wingback chair appeared, right next to Gornuk’s seat.  _ Showoff, _ Tom grumbled softly. 

“Indeed.” The goblin stared Tom down, ‘harrumphing’ and satisfied by what he saw. “Now, I am sure I don’t have to tell you that your situation is quite rare. Speaking candidly, if I may, I don’t know if I have ever seen two souls melded so flawlessly, nor so chaotically. Of course, that does complicate the situation of your finances.”

Gornuk leaned forward over his desk, long fingers laced together. “The goblin magic on your belongings may recognize both, one of, or neither of your souls. Now, for certain vaults this would not be a serious issue and you just wouldn’t be able to access your gold. Others - mainly your personal vault, Mister Riddle - this rejection could prove fatal to the ones who attempt to open it. Of course, there is one way to tell what you possess without risking anyone’s lives. 

“As I am sure both of you older gentlemen are aware, Inheritance Tests can be used to learn what an heir can legally and magically inherit from relatives. They have fallen out of fashion, dubbed ‘blood magic’ and frowned upon by the ministry as of late - though they cannot outright ban any non-human magic, they sure will try to make it obsolete. All we need is your blood, Mister Riddle, Mister Potter. A few drops should suffice.”

Harry was more than ready to slice open his arm and bleed for the goblins, but Tom froze his arm before he could grab the blade being offered up. 

**What are you doing? Don’t you want to be able to use our money?**

_ Consider this a teaching moment, child. Never trust what is implied by goblins, only what they tell you plainly.  _

“Is my blood truly all you require, or just the only physical thing you need? What will be done with my blood? Will it be disposed of as per Ministry law regarding the bodily fluids of wizards? How much blood do you need, precisely?”

Gornuk and Griphook both barked out what Harry was beginning to understand was a goblin laugh. “I know you know the answers to each of those questions, Mister Riddle, but I will entertain the two of you.” Gornuk reached into one of the many drawers in his desk and laid a thick, blank sheet of parchment on the surface. “All we need is your blood, and the residual magic that is in bodily fluids of all magical persons and non-persons. It will be placed on this paper, which was constructed through specific magical methods in order to read the information desired from one’s genetic material. Once the test is complete and the information has been copied onto a non-magical piece of parchment, this one will be burnt using  _ incindio. _ We need a total of seven drops of your blood. All very important questions to ask, doubly so when dealing with creatures known for manipulating fickle humans.”

Tom nodded, finally acquiescing their limbs back to Harry’s control so he could take the blade and press it to his forearm. The blade was goblin-forged steel, wicked sharp and a dark silver color. The hilt was some sort of bone -  _ Goblin, _ Tom whispered - and fit perfectly in his grip. He felt nothing when he ran the knife against his skin, only knowing it had broken the skin when red welled up and began to run. Lucius took the paper from the goblins, holding it under Harry’s bleeding arm and collecting the appropriate amount as it dripped. Once all the necessary  blood was harvested the paper was placed back on the desk and the blond waved his wand, muttering a spell and healing the clean slice. 

The goblins, Harry noticed when he looked up, were staring down the bloodied sheet of paper. Before his eyes Harry watched as the blood ran across the blank surface, shimmering and drying as it formed letters. The process took some time, but within five minutes the parchment was filled top to bottom with dark red words. 

Gornuk snatched it up, hiding what it said from both humans and leaning in close to Griphook. The two goblins conversed for longer than Tom was comfortable with in Gobbledygook. The whole thing was taking so long, Harry wondered if they would notice if he decided to doze off. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.   

Finally, Griphook laid the test back down on the desk. He fixed Harry with a reserved look, lips turned down in more of a frown than any other expression he had seen yet. Gornuk spoke up first. “Lord Malfoy, the information we are about to be discussing is extremely sensitive. I trust you understand that if any of this got out, it would be detrimental to the reputation of goblinkind and your Lord.” 

“I swear, not a word of this meeting will reach anyone outside of this room.”  Lucius looked appropriately scared by the implied threat in Gornuk’s words. 

“Good. Well, Mister Potter, Mister Riddle, on behalf of the goblin nation and Gringotts bank, congratulations on your marriage.”

He passed the test over to Harry. There, directly under his parents’ names, was the bolded text: 

**‘Spouse: Tom Marvolo Riddle’**

Harry stared blankly at the sheet.  **Tom, what does this mean?**

_ Tom Riddle has left the chat.  _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the unintended hiatus! I just lost my muse for a little while and had to take a break from fanfiction to finish up this school year. Now that I've got the summer ahead of me, I hope I get the creative juices flowing and get a few more chapters written. That being said, I hope you enjoyed this one! It's half indulgent sassy Harry and drama, and half my way of filling in some essential plot. There are a few little easter eggs here if you can spot them, and again, many thanks to my Beta readers!


	5. Abstruse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abstruse - adj; difficult to understand; obscure  
> Harry learns more about his family history, and Lucius brings him to the Malfoy Manor for some much-earned rest.

Harry’s brain was, for the first time since he woke up the previous day, blissfully silent. It was concerning how much he missed the ever-present voice advising his actions and telling him what to say. 

“Now, Mister Riddle, I understand-”

“Um, actually, Tom kind of… fainted? I guess? Sorry, he didn’t handle the news very well.”

Both goblins exposed sharp, crooked teeth in a depraved grin. Beside him, Lucius shook in the effort to contain his mirth. “So, we now have the honor of speaking to the other half of the relationship. Tell me, have you been conscious up until this point, or does your soul meld prevent you from experiencing anything when Mister Riddle is in control of your body?”

Harry shifted in his seat, impatient but not willing to be rude to the creatures with a mouthful of canines. “He calls it shared consciousness, or co-inhabiting. We’re both aware of what’s going on, and of each other’s thoughts, constantly. Except, apparently one of us can leave completely while the other keeps control of the body.”

If possible, the goblins looked even more intrigued by the phenomenon that was Harry’s existence. Not wanting to go off on any more of a tangent, Harry was quick to speak up again. “So, erm, could we go over the results of the Inheritance Test? I’m not sure I understand, well, any of it.”

Griphook, realizing he had a job to do and a responsibility for the child’s finances, gestured in a ‘come hither’ motion. Harry obeyed, rising and moving forward until he was leaning up against the from of the shared desk. He placed the test on the flat top when instructed to do so. 

“Alright. Mister Potter, if you don’t want to wait for your partner, I have to trust that you will convey all of this information to him when he returns?” Harry nodded. “Well, let us look it over, shall we?” 

**NAME: Harrison James Potter**

**DATE OF BIRTH: July 31, 1980**

**PARENTS**

**James Fleamont Potter (deceased)**

**Lily Cedelia Potter (nee Evans) (deceased)**

**SPOUSE: Tom Marvolo Riddle**

**TITLES**

**Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter**

**Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Peverell**

**Consort of the House Gaunt**

**VAULTS**

**# 530 - Potter Vault, 3,031,936 Galleons**

**# 117 - Peverell Vault, 122,453 Galleons**

**# 575 - Gaunt Vault, 750,966 Galleons**

**# 687 - Potter Trust Vault, 50,000 Galleons**

**PROPERTY**

**Godric's Hollow**

**Potter Manor (Uncharted)**

**Peverell Castle (Ruins)**

**Gaunt Shack (Ruins)**

**INVESTMENTS**

**Daily Prophet - 26% of Stocks**

**Flourish and Blotts - 11% of Stocks**

**MAGIC ON THE PERSON**

**25% of Core Magic Bound**

**Minor Compulsion Towards Order of the Phoenix**

 

Harry pursed his lips, not too sure what any of it meant. God, but did he wish Tom were there to explain it all, or even to know where to start.

As if answering his wish, Harry felt like a part of him was slowly waking up, pins and needles pricking his skin like a phantom limb regaining sensation. Tom gradually came to his senses, and Harry waited patiently for him. 

_ What on Earth happened? _

Harry smirked and responded in a teasing tone,  **You passed out. Or something like that, I suppose.**

Tom wanted to pretend he didn’t know what had shocked him so much, but the bold words were sitting directly in front of him.  _ Have you asked for clarification yet? _

**Figured I wait for you to do that, you probably know what questions to ask.**

Tom shrugged, knowing it was true. Harry simply didn’t have the experience with the wizarding world to know what this could mean for them. 

Griphook and Gornuk were both watching him closely. “Sorry about that, gentlemen. I’m afraid that was not the sort of news I was ever expecting to receive.” Tom took over briefly, placing his palms flat on the desk and leaning forward. “Care to explain what exactly this means when it claims we are married?”

Gornuk answered. “It would seem that the goblin magic accepted the only logical answer as to how two souls are able to coexist within one body. There is a rather obscure ritual couples would perform, before it fell out of fashion, that linked two people together at the most base level. The soul is split, and equal sized pieces are exchanged. The result is similar to whatever happened to the two of you, so it was likely easy to mistake. On the positive side, Mister Potter now has access to both of your vaults.”

Tom huffed out a sigh, momentarily losing hold of his outward display of emotions. “Do you know the name of this ritual? I would like to research it further so I understand the ramifications of being Mister Potter’s ‘spouse.’” 

Gornuk pulled out a separate piece of paper and an eagle quill. “It is known as the  _ quod iuncta impari meam (Mated Souls)  _ Ritual.” He wrote down the name and passed it to Harry. 

“Putting that behind us for now, let us address the other contents of our Inheritance Test.” Tom sat back down in the plush armchair, paying Lucius a quick glance. The blond man looked extremely uncomfortable, doing his best not to look at Harry or either of the goblins. 

Griphook nodded and began to read over the contents of the spelled paper. “You are the heir to two ancient houses. When you turn sixteen you can come to Gringotts and claim your lordship rings, thus gaining the wizengamot seats held by those houses and the title of Lord. As consort of house Gaunt you are given a ring with the house crest and power over properties and household, though not seats of power. You can claim that ring today, after we sort out the rest of this information.

“The vaults are rather self-explaining. Each of your households have a vault with Gringotts bank, and you will have access to them when you turn of-age. Currently, you can access the Gaunt vault and the Potter Trust vault. We will go to your vaults after this meeting is completed. 

“You also inherited family properties. The Potters have two, though the Manor’s location has not been known since your grandparents passed. The Peverell Castle has not been managed in many centuries, and as long since fallen into ruin. The Gaunt Shack is in a similarly decrepit state. If desired, once you gain access to your family vaults you can start construction on your properties. At that time, Gringotts can suggest companies to help you return your properties to their old glory. 

“The investments are stock purchases your ancestors made that continue to feed your vaults. They are both held under the Potter name. If you wish, at a later time we can discuss your options regarding selling, or purchasing more.

“Finally, the most concerning portion of your test: magic placed upon your person. As you can see, a good quarter of your core - that is, intrinsic magic you possess, tied to your soul, which grows alongside your body - has been blocked off, making you unable to access it. Additionally, a compulsion charm was cast upon you some years ago that is meant to sway your loyalty towards a certain group. Both of these, along with any physical damages you have collected, can be cleansed from you by goblin healers. You could also go to a witch or wizard, but they often report to the Ministry, and I have a feeling that would not be appreciated by Mister Riddle.”

Tom was silent for long enough that Harry momentarily wondered if he had lost consciousness again. The annoyance Tom sent his way answered that question.

“This information is quite… overwhelming. How long would the cleansing take, to your best estimation? I am sure that my ‘guardian’ here,” he tilted his way in Lucius’ direction, “would prefer to get back to his wife at some point today.”

“It would likely take an hour or two, depending on the state of your body. It looks to be rather weak, so I would suggest budgeting towards the higher end. We could schedule you a meeting with our healers at a later date, if that would work best for everyone.”

Tom nodded, arranging for a two-hour session a week from that day. Then it was on to other topics. 

“I would like to accept my heir rings now, if that works, then we can swing by the vaults before calling it a day,” Harry said. Tom had retreated and gave speaking rights over for the time being, distracted by the question of who had charmed Harry in the first place. 

“Of course, Mister Potter.” Griphook reached into the large coat he wore and pulled out a small velvet box. Upon opening it, Harry saw three rings nestled in more velvet, each bearing the unique crests of his houses. The Potter ring was a thick golden band, an oval of intricately carved ivory bearing the crest - a wand locked with a five-pronged antler. The Peverell ring was silver with a smooth ruby, the symbol carved in it’s face filled with thin strands of the same metal. The symbol was a triangle formed around a circle, bisected by a line. The Gaunt ring was less ornate than the two heir rings; the crest was a simple fanged snake silhouette, the eye a small emerald, all set on a thin silver band. 

Following Griphook’s instructions, Harry slipped each one onto the fingers of his right hand. With each ring he felt a  gentle wave of magic wash over him, and when he squinted at his new jewelry he could see a faint cloud of silver magic swirling around them. The goblins seemed quite pleased with the reaction Harry had received.

Now we shall go to your vaults, Heir Potter. Lord Malfoy, you are welcome to wait here in my office while we head down to the vaults.” Gornuk and Griphook both rose, walking out the door without waiting for an answer from the blond man. Harry hurried after them.

They stopped in front of an ornate bronze door. They had traveled via mine carts, an experience Harry was not looking forward to riding again any time soon. He had been told that they would be taking stock of the items contained in each vault, giving him a chance to see for himself what he now owned. The first they were visiting was the farthest below ground, the Peverell vault. It had the least amount of money in it, but the goblins promised it more than made up for the lack with priceless artefacts. 

“You cannot touch the money in these vaults until you claim your lordship, but artefacts are not held under that restriction,” Griphook spoke up as he pressed his palm to the door.

Indeed, upon opening the door Harry had to physically restrain himself. Taking up the vast majority of the moderately sized room was a massive bookcase, filled to the point that shelves were bowed under the weight. Many of the books were leather bound, handwritten, barely preserved with layered spells. Tom wanted to take each and every tome back to Malfoy Manor, to be read in depth, but Harry reminded him that they  **owned** this, and could come back to it at any time. 

Of course there was a stack of coins off to one side, glimmering under the torchlight, but it was clear that the Peverell’s valued their library over all else. In the end, he grabbed just three books, each with at least 400 pages and titles in outdated languages, before following the goblins back out and to the cursed cart.

“Now we shall see the Potter vaults. As this was an active line longer than the Peverells, there is more stored in their vaults.” Griphook had to practically yell over the sound of rushing winds as they sped up the tracks, defying gravity. 

The door to his family’s vault looked the same as that of the Peverells - tall, brass, and detailed with miscellaneous depictions of magical animals and witches. Griphook pressed his hand against an indent moulded in the form of a handprint and pushed the heavy door open. 

If Harry thought that the Peverell vault, with its sizeable library, was impressive, the Potter vault was breathtaking. Where the Potters lacked books they made up for it with countless chests lined up along three of the four walls, stacks of galleons reaching towards the ceiling, and tapestries covering all available wall space. The largest one faced the door and depicted some of his great-something grandparents. 

It was clearly a family portrait, done in the 19th century, according to the date under the frame. The woman in the picture was wearing a rich, purple saree with golden accents in her jewelry and her silk drape. On her hands, dark skin was covered in darker henna, intricately detailing lace and floral patterns .Thick black hair was pulled away from her face in an intricate updo, showing off a bright red bindi between her brows. Her husband stood by her side, dressed in a similarly traditional Indian jacket. His silk garment looked like spun gold, purple detailing on the collar and sleeves matching his wife. Between them sat a small boy, younger that Harry but around the same size, wore a solid purple jacket in the same style of his father. These were his ancestors, his family. 

Other than the large painting, there were depictions of great wizarding world events, other members of the bloodline, and various Hindu stories hung around the room. Rather than spend the whole day marveling at the art work, harry wandered over to the line of trunks. They each bore tags describing the contents, from ‘1750’s sarees’ to ‘potions ingredients.’ Harry stopped in front of the one entitled ‘heirloom wands,’ for some reason drawn to it more so than any of the others. The top was covered in dust, as if it had remained closed for centuries, though there was no lock keeping it shut. 

Harry kneeled in front of it and grasped the lid, expecting it to be stuck from decay and ageing. When he tried to lift it, however, it rose like the hinges had been greased just a week ago. The contents inside had been protected from dust, time, and other curious hands; stacks of long, thin boxes filled the chest, each dated and signed by the witch or wizard who originally mastered the wand held within. Though Tom told him to proceed with caution, Harry reached in and pulled out one seemingly at random:  _ Horith Raghava Potter, 1766-1795. _

_ What are you doing? _ Tom was concerned, to be put lightly. He knew that messing with a wand loyal to someone else could prove fatal, if the core was volatile enough. 

**It… wants me to use it, I think,** Harry responded. There was something pulling on a part of him that he had never consciously felt before, some fifth dimension body part. 

Tom faded into the background, recognizing the sensation now that Harry had acknowledged it but still hesitant. Harry lifted the lid off the small box, half expecting a noxious cloud of fumes to surround him. 

There were no sparks ignited or toxins released. Nestled in a thick layer of raw cotton was a small stick, covered in knots like it had just been sawn off a tree and packed away. The gentle pressure in his gut increased, now a fist wrapped around his innards. The wood was light, grain running lengthwise down the branch. 

Tom was back, whispering encouragement in his ear now.  _ Pick it up. It’s calling to you - answer.  _

In the end, it wasn’t as climactic as either of them had been expecting. Harry lifted the thin wand from its box and felt a wave of cold air wash over him, calming like the breeze in autumn, carrying a faint scent of wood smoke and ancient forest undergrowth. There were no fireworks shooting out of the other end, no warm arms wrapped around him. Harry thought he might prefer the sensation of total isolation, absolute independence. 

A throat cleared behind him, shaking both out of the bliss their new wand had granted them and back into the present. Harry spun around still holding the wand, hesitant to ever put it down now that he had gotten a taste of what it could give him.

“I see your visiting the vaults has proven rather beneficial. It is not every day that one is chosen by an ancestral wand, especially one as old as that you hold. It is the mark of a strong bloodline, to be able to wield the same wand a relative once did.”

It was a strange feeling, to be connected to the family he didn’t know existed until 48 hours ago. It felt fake, somehow, when he tried to muster up any particular emotion. Settling on a smirk, Harry turned his focus inward, to Tom.

**What’s so special about this wand?**

_ I’m not sure, honestly. I’ll certainly be researching the genetics of magic at some point, but I don’t think that would help understand this wand in particular. I wonder what the core is? _

Harry finally tucked the wand into his waistband, not willing to lose direct contact with it but needing both hands free. 

“I’ll wrap up this vault and hopefully we can return to the surface soon. Maybe there’s a book on wandlore in their collection?” Harry wandered away from the goblins mid-sentence, approaching the lone bookshelf in the room. Tom’s presence was immensely helpful when it came to wizarding culture, but Harry wanted to learn the more academic aspects of magic on his own, and it wasn’t like the Dark Lord had much free time to pursue his academic interests in the midst of a war. 

As it turned out, the bookshelf wasn’t very helpful in regards to theory of any branch of magic. There was nothing on wand-making, or even transfiguration. What it did have, however, was a detailed record of family history. There were hand-bound books about the business achievements of Potters throughout the ages, personal diaries from various ancestors, and - the holy grail - a scroll recording all of the wands ever used by Potters, and those passed on through the generations. 

Harry unrolled the thick parchment and glanced over the faded ink. From 1315 to 1970, every direct descendant of the line was named and, beside them, the specification of their wands written down. Many of them had crosses next to them, numbering from one to five. As explained by the legend at the top of the sheet, crosses indicated that the wand had chosen another master after the original wielder passed away. Searching the list, he found Horith Potter towards the end. Beside his name was a single freshly drawn cross, a faint sheen still present in the ink.  _ ‘10.5” supple pine with ashwinder dust-occamy feather core.’  _

Making a mental note to research the characteristics of each of those components when he found an acceptable library, Harry rolled up the parchment and returned it to the slot it had come from. He looked down at his new wand, still unsure of what he was feeling. 

**Is there anything else we need from here before we leave?**

Tom glanced around. None of the chests seemed to contain anything he currently needed, and he couldn’t touch the money in this vault for the time being.  _ No. Let’s go to your Trust and then to the surface. _

They traveled to the Potter Trust Vault next. When he inquired as to how he was supposed to transport all the money he wanted, Griphook told him about what was essentially a magical wallet. “It’s connected to your vaults. All you have to do is reach in and think about how much you need, and the coins will appear in your hand. Many witches and wizards prefer this method to filling their pockets with as much money as they can carry.” 

Harry bought one for two galleons, expecting it to prove efficient shortly. 

Finally they returned to above ground, eyes stinging momentarily as they adjusted to the strong sunlight after being in caverns for so long. Lucius was still waiting in Gornuk’s office, annotating a sheaf of papers that he quickly returned to his briefcase when the goblins entered the room. 

“So, Mister Potter, Mister Riddle, we will be seeing you next week, if there is nothing else you wish to discuss.”

Harry nodded. “Indeed. Farwell, Managers Gornuk and Griphook. Until we see each other again, I wish you much success in the pursuit of wealth and blood,” he recited word for word the formal farewell Tom told him to. 

The goblins both leered. “And may magic smile upon you both,” they responded in unison. 

Before outside of Gringotts, Lucius turned to the child who had proclaimed himself the Malfoy patriarch’s ward and also shared a brain with his Lord. “Where are we off to now? If I may, I recommend we visit Twilfit and Tattings for a new wardrobe more fitting of the heir of a noble house.”

Harry nodded, not getting any input from Tom at the moment. It seemed that his head-mate sometimes left for his own corner of the brain, not to be bothered with the physical world and leaving Harry to navigate alone. “Lead the way, Lucius.”

It was a small shop not far from Gringotts, with large windows displaying many bolts of fabric. It didn’t seem excessively busy, though there was minor foot traffic around the front of the store. Lucius led harry right up to an older woman sitting towards the back of the main room. She wore an old fashion floor-length dress and a tape measure draped around her neck, hair tied tight at the top of her head. Lucius waited for her to raise her head before he began to speak.

“Good afternoon, Madam Vettel. I hope I am finding you well today?”

The lady smiled up at them both, gingerly lifting herself to her feet. “Good afternoon, Lord Malfoy. I am doing much better now that I have customers to help. Who do you have with you today?” She smiled warmly at Harry, who fought back the instinctual flinch. 

Lucius spoke before Harry had a chance to make a fool of himself. “A distant cousin of mine, he recently came in to London to spend some time with my wife and me. His guardians seem to have let him run wild in regards to his wardrobe, and since he is to be staying at the Manor, I thought it only fitting that he wear proper wizarding attire.” 

Madam Vettel chuckled and pulled the tape measure off from around her neck. “Children these days, always ready to fight tradition. I am happy to see this boy being steered in the proper direction by someone. What all do we need today?”

Lucius and Harry exchanged a look, the latter hoping he conveyed all the information the former needed without words. “All that you can think of. Trousers, undershirts, dress shirts, loungewear, and robes for all occasions. He is an heir, so he must represent his family well. Prefered color scheme of blues and greens, of course.”

Without her hands guiding it, the tape measure flew towards Harry and wrapped around his wrist. For a second he froze, breath catching, but he relaxed when nothing happened. It moved around him like it had a mind of its own, wrapping around various body parts and stretching out alongside others. Once it had apparently taken all the measurements it required it flew back to Madam Vettel and returned to its resting place around her shoulders. 

“I will get to work on those clothes shortly. I am assuming you wish to have them delivered to the Manor upon completion?”

“Naturally.”

“They will be there is three days time. Is there anything else I can do for you two today?” 

Lucius glanced down at Harry again, gesturing for him to speak up this time. “I need new shoes and socks,” he blurted out, immediately wincing at the abrupt nature of his speech. Madam Vettel didn’t seem to think anything of it, just leading the young boy over to a stack of boxes reaching toward the ceiling. 

“Would you like a pair of fine dragonhide boots? They are quite popular among the younger generations, I sell quite a few every fall.”

Harry hesitated, staring all the ankle boots she was showing him. They were patterned like snakeskin and reflected light just the same, only these were black as obsidian and reeked of wealth. Stunningly beautiful, certainly, but he wondered how the leather was harvested. 

When he asked as much, the woman let out a genuine laugh. “That is precious! It’s sweet that you are worried about humane treatment of dragons in this day and age. All of the dragonhide used commercially is taken from the bodies of those who die naturally, in sanctuaries down in the southeast.”

With that concern abbated, Harry accepted the box from her and lifted a boot from it. As he had noted earlier, they would reach just past his ankle. There was a slight heel, just enough to raise him past 4’5”, and a couple rows of silver and black laces to keep them fitted. He nodded when she inquired as to whether they were to his liking. When he asked if they needed to be tried on, she chuckled again and informed him that all his measurements had already been taken, and this pair was almost exactly the proper dimensions. 

“If that is all you two will be needing today,” she started as she made her way to the front of the store, “I can take your money here. That will be 120 galleons and 10 sickles.”

They stepped out of the shop after the transaction was complete, Lucius taking hold of Harry and steering him towards an alley wizards kept emerging from. 

“The quickest way to get to the Manor is by apparition. For first-timers, my old advice is to keep your mouth and eyes shut. It is not a pleasant sensation, but it will be over quickly.” Then they were stepping over a chalk line on the ground and Lucius pulled out his wand, turned sharply on his heel, and they disappeared from where they were standing with a loud crack. 

Upon landing on a stretch of gravel, Harry jerked away from Lucius and proceeded to spew thin vomit all over the ground, barely managing to keep his clothes clean. His head pounded and spun the worst it had all of that day. Above him he heard the blond tisk through clenched teeth, but was too busy trying to swallow back another wave of nausea to respond. 

_ The first few times apparating can be disorienting. _ Tom tried his best to comfort the younger boy. Though he hated Lucius seeing him this weak, he knew that there was only so much change an adolescent could handle before they broke down. Hell, he was almost at his own limit. 

When his stomach finally stopped trying to turn itself inside out, Harry rose to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at Lucius and waiting for him to speak first. 

It seemed that the Lord hadn’t expected what he had just witnessed, and seemed taken aback when Harry made eye contact. “Ah, welcome to the Malfoy Manor, My Lord, Mister Potter. I open my doors to you for as long as you desire my hospitality.” 

Tom chose that moment to take over, and Harry was more than willing to let him. There were formalities being addressed that he wasn’t familiar with, and he didn’t want to mess anything up. 

“I accept your offer, and swear that I will not abuse it.” They both nodded, and Harry watched a thin silver strand drift into place between them, as faint as a single blond hair caught in the breeze. “Now, Lucius, tell me; have my rooms been kept up to par?” 

The blond started down the path towards a massive house, not too far in the distance. As he walked, he responded to Tom. “The house-elves dust and launder your chambers as often as they do mine own, My Lord. For the past ten years Narcissa and I have been waiting for your return, and did not want you to think us unprepared to welcome you.”

“I am happy to hear that. Harry has had a trying day, and I think he would appreciate a hot meal and a soft bed at this point. On the topic of your wife, how has your family been?”

Lucius puffed up, talk of his family filling him with pride. “Narcissa and I had a son, I’m sure you recall. He is the same age as Harry, if I remember correctly, and his name is Draco. He is at Hogwarts for his first year at the moment, and writes us constantly about how he is adapting. Speaking of schooling, why is Harry not there at this very moment?”

Silence fell over the pair for a minute as Tom thought about the question. ‘I must admit, I am not sure. I have only been conscious alongside Harry for the past two days, and have no memories from between Halloween in 1981 and then.” 

Realizing that they were talking about him, Harry come to the forefront. “Before two days ago, as far as I was aware, it was still July. Then Uncle hit me and fell asleep and woke up in the middle of November.” He faded away and quickly as he had appeared, not wanting to focus on the thought of that night. 

Lucius, on the other hand, couldn’t ignore the comment. He froze, staring at the boy. “You… You were abused?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment before Tom answered. “I suppose he was. His past is not something we have addressed yet, but I was aware, abstractly, that he did not come from a loving home. It is not a topic of discussion at this point, however.” Tom kept walking, his intent now to reach his bedroom as soon as possible to finally get some well-earned rest. 

Lucius caught on quickly and dropped the subject, walking in silence for the next five minutes until they reached the front door. A house-elf wearing a clean grey sheet popped up, bowing deeply to both humans before addressing her master. 

“Master Malfoy, your wife do requests you join her in the drawings room. The wards alerted her of an unauthorized guest accompanying you and was mighty worried!”

He blanched at the prospect of being chewed out by his wife, but spared a glance to Tom. “My Lord, would you be content with Gimney taking you to your rooms? I am afraid Narcissa’s anger only grows stronger when she is left to wait...”

Tom waved him off. “Certainly, Lucius. I understand the importance of family to you and will be fine with just an elf.”

The blond called for another of the small creatures and instructed her to lead Tom to the Dark Lord’s rooms before he took off, a hint too fast to be considered a casual pace. The elf that appeared before Tom was small, wearing a plain white sheet in the same style as Blissey. She bowed deeply to Tom and squeaked out, “If Mister Riddle would bes following Gimney, we can takes him to his chambers!” 

Walking through the halls of the Manor, Harry let his curiosity get the better of him and gawked at his surroundings. The floor was freshly polished marble, blindingly white with spiderwebs of grey streaking through it. The walls were solid stone and covered in massive works of art - tapestries, mosaics, oil canvases. Over head, chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. Floor-to-ceiling windows gazed out at flower gardens filled with every color rose imaginable and forests full of ancient oaks. The staircase they climbed was white stone with dark wood accents, the railings iron twisted into ornate patterns. 

When they reached the door to his bedroom, Harry couldn’t believe Tom had put up with staying at the dirt-cheap hotel the night before when he could have been sleeping  **here.** The door itself was dark walnut and heavy, clearly expensive.

He turned to the elf, who stood off to the side waiting to be dismissed. “These are my rooms?” he asked, incredulous. 

She was quick to shake her head. “No Sir, this is only your sleeping chambers. The other rooms are being further down the hall!” 

Harry was feeling faint with the realization that he got to stay in an actual, legitimate, mansion. “I see.” 

Is there anything else Gimney can be getting Mister Riddle?” She was wringing her hands, anxious to serve her master’s Lord to the best of her ability. 

Harry took stock of the body for a second before responding. “If the kitchen could bring up a hot meal in a few minutes, I would appreciate it. Other than that, I’m good. Thank you for guiding me here, you’re dismissed.”

The elf, slightly teary-eyed from the thanks, nodded and disapparated. Tom shook his head, still confused by the behavior of house elves in response to any form of kindness. 

It took more effort than Tom wanted to admit, pushing open the door to his bed chambers. When it finally swung on its hinges, he felt his breath catch as Harry took in the decor. The floor was the same deep wood as the door, freshly polished even though it hadn’t been used in a decade. The walls were a light grey, mostly covered in bookshelves and framed works of art. A pair of armchairs sat along the wall beside a tall bookcase, side table between them bearing a solid silver candelabra. Facing the large window taking up a whole wall was a queen size four-poster bed. The quilt covering it was plush velvet, dark green with black detailing. 

I was the closest thing to a home for Tom. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he threw himself onto the plush mattress. Before he could drift into unconsciousness, a loud pop filled the air as Gimney appeared. She bore a large covered platter which she set on the side table across the room. 

“Gimney has broughts Mister Riddle supper from the kitchens. We hopes that Mister Riddle finds the food to his liking!” She popped out as quickly as she had come, leaving Tom’s stomach growling as the smell of a freshly-prepared meal saturated the air. 

Part of him wanted to just remain in the bed, body aching and exhausted from the high emotions of the day, but Harry knew better than to pass up a meal when it was offered to him. Pulling himself to his feet again was a trial in and of itself, but Harry eventually made his way across the room and seated himself beside the tray of food. It wasn’t much - probably for the best, given his history with small, inconsistent meals - and the food was bland, but it was better than anything he had ever gotten to eat. 

Harry was only able to eat half of the plate, despite how small the portion was. Once finished, he returned to the bed, stripping off his day clothes and curling up under the magically heated sheets. Though Tom knew Lucius would want an explanation for the situation he had found himself in, sleep was calling to him like a siren. He couldn’t resist as his eyelids drooped, taking longer each time to reopen. Harry was already fading, and Tom couldn’t help but follow after him. After such a trying day, not even the threat of nightmares would keep him from resting. 

 

Narcissa had kept him for longer than Lucius was expecting. As he made his way to his Lord’s room, he hoped that the dark wizard wouldn’t hold it against him. The day had gone from annoying to downright baffling, and he was struggling to keep up. However, upon pushing open the heavy walnut door, Lucius froze. Rather than his lord sitting and waiting impatiently for his subject, as he had been anticipating, the blond saw a small lump curled up almost completely under the blankets. All that peeked out from under green velvet was a mop of black hair. 

It struck him just how small the boy, Harry, was. Balled up in the center of the bed as he was, taking up less space than one of the Malfoy foxhounds, it wasn’t hard to believe that the child had lived a less-than-ideal life up until this point. He was nothing like Draco, tall and gangly and just entering puberty. Still, inexplicably, Lucius felt faintly responsible for the boy. Perhaps it was his own son being away from home for the first time, but the blond felt the urge to tuck harry into the bed. 

Shaking his head, he turned away and closed the door behind himself. Despite appearances, it was also his Lord in there, and Lucius didn’t think that the full-grown wizard would much appreciate being doted on like a child. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploads will be pretty scattered for the entirety of this fic, sorry! I'm trying to write, but it's hard to just sit down with my laptop for a couple hours. I did just get my wisdom teeth out though, so hopefully this week of rest will prove beneficial to my writing. Then it's off to college for me!


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